


Of All the Gallery Openings in New York

by ashen_key



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Minor Unrequited Lust, Minor or Background Pairings, Missing Scene, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Ridiculous Footwear, Spiders, Unexpected Meetings, mission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/pseuds/ashen_key
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Mr Stark, if you break my cover, I will stab you with my heels,” Agent Romanoff said in the breathy, awestruck tones of Veronique.</p><p>[OR: at an otherwise boring gallery opening, Tony catches sight of a certain SHIELD agent.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of All the Gallery Openings in New York

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/12672.html?thread=28938624#t28938624) avengerkink prompt that called for Natasha wearing [these shoes](http://www.bety.cz/dveprvacky/sites/default/files/spide-shoes-254x300.jpg). [contains spiders]
> 
> Natasha's dress started life in the brain of [Peahen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Peahen), who is the best. Read over by [TLvop](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TLvop), who is also the best. Set at a nebulous point between Iron Man 2 and Avengers.

Tony never went to art exhibitions to actually look at the art. He went because Pepper told him to (he understood that there had been an invitation first, but that all was why he hired her in the first place), because there was unlimited wine, and because there were a lot of heels supporting a lot of long legs underneath short dresses. 

Pepper's dress wasn't short – although it had this interesting geometric thing happening that he found fascinating – but he'd always liked her legs. From an engineering point of view, he also got a kick out of her shoes. Pepper was currently elsewhere with her interesting dress and shoes, CEO-ing it up with the artist. 

Whoever the artist was. 

It'd come to him, but honestly the lines of the room held more interest than did the overpriced panels on the walls. He could appreciate an overpriced panel of something, but there was a reason he wrote the cheques and Pepper handled the everything else. 

He'd buy something here, and yes, he could bullshit about meaning like a pro (he was a former CEO, he _was_ a pro at meaningful-sounding meaningless crap), and he really didn't care. 

He was mature enough not to do make a scene just because he was bored. He was getting better. He was trying. Pepper would be mad. Better look at the art and work out which one to put into storage.

That one. Big panel, red with splatters of gold on it. Specs of blue. A woman with purple-tinged red hair curling down her back standing in front of it, like she could actually see something. Nice dress: black, edged with white, fit her curves like a glove. Really nice ass. Long pale legs that ended in a pair of transparent platform heels with-

Tony frowned, his interest piqued as he moved closer. 

Spiders.

Big spiders. 

The woman had _tarantulas_ rearing up aggressively underneath the balls of her feet. And a couple other unfortunate insects, but what....

The shoes turned, and Tony dragged his eyes upwards. There was a white stripe across the black dress, running from right thigh to left shoulder over a generous helping of breast, and above that was a face with the kind of beauty that hit a guy, really hit and made him lose track of his thought process. Which Tony wasn't just bullshitting about, because it was only a few months since he'd first seen that face and been more tongue-twisted than he had in decades.

“...nice shoes,” he managed, and before he could add anything like _Natalie_ or _Agent Romanoff_ , her face lit up.

She giggled.

The woman actually _giggled_. It was more disconcerting than her possibly illegal choice of footwear. 

“Oh, you're Tony Stark. You're _the_ Tony Stark. Oh, my- I'm making such an idiot of myself, I'm Veronique,” Agent Romanoff said, all wide eyes and fluttering hands and French accent. She smelled nice, too, when she stepped closer, but all intense and incense-y, unlike the light scent of his former PA. Which he remembered because he actually had an _excellent_ sensory memory, thank you very much.

He could also remember Happy's expression the night of the Expo once everyone had found each other again, sans one SHIELD spy. 

“Veronique. Of course you are.” 

Her lower lip caught in her teeth and she curled in close, back against the crowd and those teeth far too close to his ear for comfort thanks to the seven inches in height she'd gained from those platforms.

“Mr Stark, if you break my cover, I will stab you with my heels,” Agent Romanoff said in the breathy, awestruck tones of Veronique.

“Stab? Really, that's the angle you are going for?” He glanced at her, cocking an eyebrow. “I thought you were going to feed me to them.”

Her teeth flashed in what might have been a genuine smile. Probably genuine; it shifted to something wider and more harmless after a second. “I'm working. Pretty please?”

At least she didn't say anything about sugar and whipped cream and cherries on top. Except he was thinking it, so he was conjuring up the visuals anyway. _Focus, Tony_. “I think you traumatised my driver.”

“I _did_ tell him to stay in the car.” Romanoff shifted on her heels, bent her head to let her curls shield her face from the rest of the crowd. “I'm with a very bad man, I'd appreciate it if you let me do my job in tracking down your stolen weapons.”

Her words hung in the air for a minute. Less than a minute. More like fifteen seconds. She was taller on those heels, but seemed somehow smaller. Centre of balance was too high for stability. “Done,” he said, and was rewarded with a small smile of gratitude from Romanoff before Veronique giggled, flashed him a grin, and flittered away. 

The dead tarantulas seemed to wave at him as she moved through the crowd, and he drained his wineglass as he redirected his attention to the painting. He'd buy it, he thought. Call it a thanks for this shindig suddenly getting _much_ more interesting.


End file.
